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I focus on the redhead. My jeans tighten, but I’m not fully excited. I’ve watched this so many times it’ll take effort to get hard.
Just as I unzip my jeans and grip myself with a palm, Paige plops down next to me on the couch, tucking her feet under her yoga-pants-covered rear. Her spaghetti-strap top is splattered with dried bloodstains from earlier.
I’ll admit it. I scream. I can bench press 290 pounds, and I scream like a fucking child. Beer spills on my stomach. My dick, still very much out in the open, flops against my thigh. I scramble to sit up, shoving myself back in my jeans and zipping. My heart is pounding, but Paige is calm and collected, like we’re watching a Disney movie. She studies the redhead, one corner of her lip raised.
I fumble for the game controller to stop the movie, but Paige casually pulls it from my grip. She gives me a sideways glance, first at the damp beer stain on my shirt, then at my crotch. The other corner of her mouth raises, and her mahogany eyes return to the TV.
What the hell is that look about? I was just getting started. Of course I won’t be rock hard when I’m just getting started. I chug the rest of the beer, forcing it down my tense throat. My face probably looks like a tomato, but I feel like I should say something. I’m at a loss for words. She wants to sit on the couch with a guy she just met and watch porn? Fine. That’s what we’re doing.
The redhead bangs a third dude, and Paige leans forward like she’s studying for an exam. I’ve never met any woman who was this into porn.
I clear my throat. I should say something if only to make myself less uncomfortable. “Did you sleep okay?”
She nods, still absorbed in the scene, and pulls the band from her ponytail. Her long, tangled cinnamon-brown hair cascades down her back, framing her exposed rose-ivory shoulders. She has really long hair, which I like. She scoots to the edge of the couch. I could still have my dick out, jerking off, and I bet she wouldn’t blink. Her hair is pretty, though. I love long hair that’s easy to grip.
I groan and get off the couch. I need another beer. Or five.
“Do you want anything?” I ask, peering into the fridge. I should get steak started for dinner.
She doesn’t reply, only walks into the kitchen to grab an empty cup off the drying rack, filling it with tap water. Then she returns to the couch, her ass perfectly sculpted in those yoga pants. I bet she’s flexible.
Six beers. That will be enough for me to process this attractive, strange, porn-loving woman who is now my roommate. Who I’m not supposed to touch. I can imagine the argument with Amber.
“I didn’t ask her to watch porn with me. She wanted to!”
“Sure,” Amber will say, cackling like a witch in my head. “Sweet, innocent Paige just wanted to watch porn with you. And I bet she’s the one who took off her own clothes and started riding you, is that right? Your penis brain is completely innocent.”
Yeah, I’m not winning that argument. I’ll keep my distance, for my sake and Amber’s, but I can’t deny the attraction.
While Paige takes porno notes, I sear two steaks in a cast iron pan and swallow another beer. Then I pop the steaks in the oven to finish cooking. With my third beer bottle open, I return to the couch. Now a black man is banging an Asian woman from behind as a white woman on the side looks for an opening, touching herself. When did Paige switch my DVD?
Paige turns to me with a grin. I can’t help but smile back, as strange as it is. She’s too cute—pink lips, almond-shaped eyes, delicate eyebrows she leaves unplucked and wild. I try not to think about how she got the black eye because it will get me too worked up.
Now that I’m looking closer, Paige has really youthful, smooth skin and…
Wait a minute. My stomach drops. “Paige, how old are you?”
She makes numbers with her fingers, her expression innocent and pure.
One. Seven.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
As my heart leaps into my throat, mind racing with the image of a SWAT team busting through my door—because now I’ve shown porn to a minor—Paige doubles over in laughter. What is she laughing about? I definitely don’t find this funny.
It takes her a few seconds to pull her phone out and type, especially since she’s still laughing and shaking like this is the funniest thing ever. Her phone speaks.
I hide a smile behind the rim of the beer bottle, head shaking as I try to calm my insides. “You don’t look twenty-five.”
She boops my nose.
No one has ever booped my nose. Where did this woman come from?
Bouncing on the cushion, she types something else on the phone.
I nod. No idea what the hell she’s talking about. “So, why do you use your phone to talk?”
